


The Absence of Regret

by Ira_Dunfort



Series: At Odds [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at humour, Casual Clothes on Supernatural Beings, Get off my lawn, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Other, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), That Thing about Raphael, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), a hint of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 12:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20309425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ira_Dunfort/pseuds/Ira_Dunfort
Summary: The one in which they were putting their metaphorical dicks on the table and Gabriel is a gory trainwreck when it comes to good deeds. Good and evil is just a matter of perspective and compartmentalization.And who was Raphael, really?





	The Absence of Regret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MadamMortis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadamMortis/gifts).

> I had this idea on the bus to work. It wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it all down.

Crowley was glowering at his Eden Roses from above his sunglasses. 

"My angel will be back by five, so you better bloom the fuck up, or I'll rip you apart, petal by petal." He tapped his foot expectantly on his neatly trimmed lawn that didn't dare to grow past his set limitations. Buds quivered, then pushed, unfolding pastel pink and white flowers, their sweet scent releasing into the hot summer air. 

"Now, was that so hard. I might even add some fertilizer to your night watering."

The roses on the garden wall shook with complicated emotions. It was then that ozone mingled with their fragrance as purple lightning struck behind the demon, scorching grass. 

"No!" Crowley growled. "No, Gabriel, I'm absolutely not dealing with your shit anymore!" He pointed at the smug archangel, who was, fitting the current weather conditions, dressed in loose grey sweatpants and a lavender singlet. He also wore flip flops, golden toenails glinting in the sun.

"Get the Heavens off my lawn!"

"Of course, where are my manners." He smiled at the demon, showing too much teeth, and strode right through the glass door into the cottage. 

"Gabriel!" Crowley was ready to stomp after the intruder as something, someone, broke through his lawn.

"What is wrong with you people? Get _out_ of my lawn!" He felt the urge to step on the prince's head as it rose, patches of grass and dirt piling up around them. 

"Hi." Lord Beelzebub said, looking unimpressed. "I assume Gabriel let himself in?"

"He did, that wanker-- wait, where do you think you're going?"

He fixed his lawn with a particularly angry snap and hurried after his self invited guests, muttering under his breath about the dirt the Lord of Flies had dragged all over his living room floor with their boots they paired with a simple black and short romper. 

\---

"Darling, I'm home!" Aziraphale's smile vanished as he appeared in the doorway.

"Crowley, what is going on?"

The demon all but rushed to his husband. "You tell me. Some sort of contest? It's been hours. They are putting their metaphorical dicks on the table."

"Our table, none the less." Aziraphale wrinkled his nose.

"Yeah, they want us, of all people, as referees since we're 'free agents'."

The angel sighed. "Well, then," he turned to the kitchen. "I need wine."

\---

Gabriel, having accepted a glass of wine after practically being bullied into it by the petite demon, sipped the offending liquid before pushing out his chin to say. "I'm responsible for the inspiration for the Star Wars prequels."

Beelzebub gasps, clutching their own wine glass to their chest. Crowley made not so subtle gagging sounds. The resident angel Aziraphale was still trying to decipher what was happening between the two beings who each sat on the armchairs on opposing sides of the coffee table while the owners of the cottage were seated on the sofa between their former authorities. 

"I've had put an end to the Bubonic Plague. Humans put way to much hope into Her to save and heal them, we were losing _millions_." 

"The European Song Contest, that is one of mine, personally." Gabriel said, changing the subject to stop a pulse from appearing in his corporation.

"You're _disgusting_."

"I am _not_. It is a peaceful tournament of songs between nations." He smiled at his enemy. It didn't seem to have any effect.

"It's trash." The Lord of Flies sniffed before topping off their glass. 

"You're familiar, then."

That, Aziraphale had to chuckle at, much to Crowley's delight. 

Beelzebub leaned forward, eyes narrowing on Gabriel, "I've tempted Hitler into suicide."

There was something unfathomable happening to the archangel's face. Something that made him drown his entire wine before refilling the glass.

Aziraphale leaned into Crowley, whispering. "He never drank, I don't think this is a good idea."

"This will be fun." Crowley whispered back, glee in his voice, fingers excitedly dancing on his angel's knee. 

Gabriel sat up straight, his pectorals doing obscene things with his singlet. "I'm responsible for the spread of veganism." 

The top button of Beelzebub's romper came undone. "You're a monster." 

"No!" Gabriel slumped back down into the armchair, the wine making him pliant, leading him to sprawl. His sweatpants weren't doing a good job hiding anything concerning his Effort. "No, I'm certainly not."

"Lie to yourself, I don't care." The demon shrugged, eyes roaming their opponent. "The last push to ensure the fall of the Soviet Union, that was me. There is so much more sin in Capitalism."

Aziraphale choked on his tea biscuit when he saw Gabriel bite his lip. 

The archangel downed another glass of wine and sank even deeper into his seat, legs spreading further apart. He took a deep and absolutely unnecessary breath. "I delivered the plans that will help regain the United Kingdom their sovereignty."

"Brexit." Beelzebub said in a reverent, hushed tone.

"A crude word for it, but yes." Gabriel nodded. "Is there any more wine?"

Crowley jumped up, plucking the empty bottle from the table and hurried to the kitchen, muttering under his breath. When he came back, he could swear the flies dancing around the prince's head had decided on a fairly suggestive pattern.

"Get a room." He said as he refilled the glass of Beelzebub.

"This is a room." Gabriel responded.

Beelzebub had laughed at that. It made Crowley's skin crawl. The demon host grit his teeth and sat the bottle down. "Yeah, right. What was I thinking."

Hell's prince fixed his eyes back on the archangel. "Martin Luther translating the Bible so everyone could take the dumb thing apart, that was me."

That one pulled the angel up from his slump, wine swishing dangerously. "But that was one of mine, to further spread the word of God."

Beelzebub cocked their eyebrow. "You sure, dove?"

Gabriel practically bristled. "Oh, fuck you."

"Fuck me yourself, you coward."

The tension was palpable. Gabriel had to contain himself. A second button of the devil's romper came undone. Aziraphale was ready to rise to his feet and kick them out before things got messy, but Crowley reached for his hand. This was a trainwreck. He couldn't look away, he wanted to see how gory it'll end up.

Struck with overwhelmingly irritating urges, Gabriel snapped. "Enough of that. I am the Messenger of God Herself." he stood, swaying slightly, flexing his naked shoulders. 

Beelzebub rose, equally unsteady on their feet. "And I build the stars for Her!" they yelled, stepping right into the archangel's personal space to poke at his firm chest.

Silence fell over the room. 

Purple eyes wavered. All but a single, quiet word slipped from his lips. "What?"

"Never thought Sandalphon's ugly mug was out of place?" Beelzebub shouted. "All I had ever wanted was some bloody artistic freedom."

The realization hit Gabriel like a brick. Everything slipped out of focus, memories flooding his mind. He sank to his knees. "The Pegasus Galaxy?"

"You remember?" Beelzebub asked, tone changing from anger to something broken. "You always loved those stupid flying horses ever since you saw the blueprints for them. All muscle and wings, of course, you'd like them."

"You had made it for me." There was no denying it, there was a heartbeat in his chest, a racing, pounding, painful heartbeat. 

"Yes. I, therefore, presented proof that I put something, _someone_, before Her. I disobeyed. I created something out of my own will, the nebulas all green and blue and orange."

_Like green bottle flies._

Crowley went rigid next to Aziraphale. 

_I was only asking questions. Why can't they love him? What is so wrong with love? How are we supposed to know?_

"Raphael."

"She was having none of that. She took away my stars and gave me flies to remind me of my place. Architect of the universe, but still nothing but an insect to her. All because I loved you."

Gabriel was at a loss of words. He wept as memories rebuild, piece by piece, pictures of Raphael, hair the darkest midnight blue and radiant pearls of gold orbiting their head. He remembered their brilliant smile as their hands hung the moon, ignited sun after sun, embroidering the heavens with dots of light, weaving the milky way. Memories of lingering gazes, soft touches, the tug on their very essences to stay at each other's side. 

"I regret _nothing_, Gabriel." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you MadamMortis for pushing me. I don't think I would've gone back into writing if it weren't for you and your hilarious Ineffable Husbands dynamics making me feel all giddy.
> 
> This is un-beta'ed, so if you find something odd, do tell.


End file.
